A Cook of Ice and Fire
by ViciousVigilante
Summary: I was suprised to see that there was no decent "Walter White to Westeros" crossover. I've just finished Breaking Bad and really adore both the show and the ASOIAF books. Expect Walter White and his nemesis to clash with the best players of the Game of Thrones. Will try to update regularly. Rated M to be on the safe side


Secretariat of inter-universe affairs

Fictional world management division

"Second Chance" project team

Internal memo on BB-62

Comprehensive primary character analysis has shown excellent performance. Inclusion in "Second Chance" project recommended. Development advises utilizing copy-splice technique. Further research into splice details currently underway. Authorization pending.

Wish them luck. This time.

Walter I

The pain in his gut was excruciating.

"Damn it! Why do I have to stay alive? Why can't everything go as planned?" – Walt felt tears well up in his eyes. "My family… They don't need me alive – not now… And they are coming to get me… The sirens…"

Walt froze. Not a sound came outside Todd's lab – except for a faint chirping of birds. Then he noticed something else.

A streak of sunlight was coming from under the doors.

"How long have I been out?" – he thought almost idly. "And why the hell didn't the cops arrive?"

All of this was absurdly impossible. And yet, he was there. So when the pain finally subsided and no blood colored his fingers as he held them to his side, Walter White wasn't surprised at all.

"A hallucination, that's what it is. I'm dying of bloodloss. Thanks god it's so… peaceful. Might as well stand up."

The garage door felt cold and rugged under his fingers. If this was indeed a hallucination, then a very vivid one. Better than Jesse's video games.

It was when he crawled out of the garage door when he lost his thoughts.

The view around the warehouse was nothing like this remote Albuquerque district. Nothing like any place in the Southwest, for that matter. No meadows like that in New Mexico. And sure as hell no cow dung – Walt cursed under his breath, wiping his foot against the rich grass. Only then he felt a whiff of smoke.

Still bewildered, he turned his head to see a small grove of what looked like oak – and his last car smashed against one of those. Just then a lean figure crawled out of that one.

- Jesse! – Walter cried out before he thought anything.

Pinkman turned, his painfully hateful look seen even so far from here. Soon, however, he seemed just as bewildered, mouth agape. Finally he strode to the warehouse with unsure steps of a man being shackled for too long.

- Is this like… heaven? – he asked no one in particular, staring into the distance.

- If you ask me, it's much more likely for us to go to hell… if you believe in that sort of thing, at least. – Walter muttered absent-mindedly.

Jesse's bearded face turned from amazed to frightened in a second.

- Someone's coming, Mr. White! – he exclaimed warily.

Walt followed his gaze and immediately wished he had at least that pistol of his. All the guns appeared to have been left in Jack Welker's "office", now apparently gone. Hiding was out of the question, either – the two horsemen, looking right from a Renaissance fair of sorts, were almost upon them. He could make out the badges on their chainmail armor, showing a sheep with a golden cup on green.

- Halt! – commanded one of them, sporting a thick black bush of a beard. – What business have you trespassing on the Stokeworth lands?

Jory I

- Come on… er, officer, - the stocky bald man uttered finally. – There must be some huge mistake. I mean, we don't even know why we are here in the first place.

- Or where "here" is. – added the bearded Dornishman, trying to crack an uneasy smile.

Jory made no effort to suppress the laugh. These two oafs even tried to change some of their clothes, but the black jackets were a dead giveaway.

- Don't even think about fooling me. What else would a man from Dorne do so close to the Wall, if not run from the Watch? Deserters is who you are. Tomard, Varley, take them!

As a couple of Stark guardsmen dismounted to follow the order, the Dornishman jerked his hand to his hip. Tomard cursed and reached for his sword.

- Chill, Gomie. I'm sure we can explain ourselves. Do you want to die once again so fast? – the bald one chuckled.

- As you say, Hank. – "Gomie" – what kind of a name is that? – held out his hands for Tomard to tie with a rope. Jory let out a sigh of relief. At least they weren't bold enough to fight, even despite what awaited them.

- Ride to Winterfell, - he commanded another guardsman, Alf, - and tell lord Stark we've got two deserters from the Night's Watch. The lord of the North will decide your fate, - he announced as the rider sped to the castle, barely visible on the horizon, - and you won't be pleased by his judgment, that I promise.


End file.
